Devil Went Down to Georgia
by abs812
Summary: John sends Sam and Dean on a hunting trip to Savannah, Georgia where they find answers about their mom's death, their pasts, and futures. Post Devil's Trap. AngstRomance. Pls R&R. Ch 3 up
1. Intro

_A/N: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters. I thought I would throw a hand at Supernatural because I love writing about the paranormal. And of course, why should I pass up an opportunity to write about the adorable Winchester boys! If you like it, PLEASE let me know—the reviews help with the creative process. I hope you enjoy! The intro is the setup, so please read both it and Ch. 1 Abs_

"What are we doing?" she giggled, walking clumsily through the sand dune. "It's dark, I thought you were going to bring a flashlight?"

A hand reached from behind and clutched her waist, "I thought it would be more romantic this way. A moonlit stroll on the beach," he pulled her into a deep kiss.

"Mmm," she sighed gently pulling away, "a wine kiss. The best kind," she tugged playfully on his hand and continued walking toward the water.

The couple only stopped momentarily at the dunes' edge to remove their shoes. The moon was full, and the air was warming with the imminence summer. The humidity that accompanied June nights, was just threatening the May temperance, and the smell of saltwater and sand filled their nostrils. "Perfect night for a stroll," he pulled her close to his side, his fingers still intertwined in his.

"Yeah it is," she smiled still perfectly aware that they were not walking in a straight line down the water's edge, "Look Matt, we have been making a wobbly line of footprints down the beach," she giggled again, "I'm glad we walked here from the house. Driving would have been a very bad idea."

He twirled her around so that they were both walking backwards, "well, now we can admire where we've been," the pale blue light of the moon reflected off the water, "and wander blindly backwards into the future."

"Together," she suddenly became serious and stopped moving. "I love you," she lifted her hand to his face when the light of the distant lighthouse caught the sparkle on her finger.

"I love you too, Leigh," he let his lips find hers with a softer touch, "Thank you for saying yes."

"It was an offer, I couldn't refuse," she laughed through her _Godfather_ impression. Matt smiled and kissed her again, this time moving his hands up the back of her shirt and lifting it over her head. "Well, Matthew Cleese, are you sure we're alone?"

"Do you see anyone?" he unhooked the back of her bra. Leigh smiled and let him as they moved closer to the ocean. "Feel like a swim?" Matt smiled after undressing himself and stepping into the surf.

"A swim," she followed him hand in hand, a mischievously knowing smile on her face.

They waded into the water until they were waist deep in the waves. Matt turned her close to him as they floated up and down on the tide in each other's arms, "I'm thinking four kids," he kidded in between kisses.

"Only if you'll be birthing them," Leigh kidded playfully biting his lip.

"Ouch," he laughed, catching movement on the shore behind them. He stood still and watched the dunes.

"What's wrong?" she clung tighter to him, "I was only kidding. I thought you liked it when I'm rough," she tried kissing his neck.

"Shh," he quieted her and continued to watch the shape moving on the shoreline. He crouched down in the water and pulled Leigh with him, "There's someone on the beach."

"Oh no, I hope it's not your dad."

"It's not my dad," Matt quieted. The silhouette was motionless, transfixed on the couple in the ocean.

"This is weird, Matt. I don't like it," Leigh squeezed his shoulder more tightly. Under the waves, she could feel his hand griping her calf. "You don't have to grab my leg so tight, I'm not going anywhere either."

Matt's eyes widened, "I'm not touching your leg."

"Sure you are, there's a hand wrapped around my…" she didn't get to finish the sentence. She disappeared under the water.

"Leigh, that's not funny," he reached his hand under the water to pull her back to the surface, probably smiling, but couldn't find her. "Leigh!" Matt stood up, full height in the water, "Leigh!" he yelled again thrashing around searching the ocean floor with his feet and the water with his hands. He kept calling her name, searching, "_to hell with the person on the beach, I don't care if they see me naked, my fiancé is missing!"_ he thought.

The figure backed into the dunes, as stilly and quietly as it had appeared, the moonlight reflecting off its yellow, hollow eyes.

Supernatural…


	2. New Game

The air was frosty, especially for Mid-may. His breath hung on the air and created a fog around him that he hoped would not disclose his location. He had placed a piece of duct tape over the red light on the video camera so that it wouldn't alert the specter to his presence. With the camera on infrared, he swept the field for the fourteenth time, trying to get a read on the invisible pest that was disturbing the town. Keeping count helped keep him awake. It gave his mind something to focus on other than the mundane task at hand. "If this is the spook that has been haunting this town, then we have to at least try to get a visual on it," his brother's nagging voice echoed in his ears. He had wondered why they couldn't just kill it, "You have to know what it is before you kill it, Sammy." The current theory at hand was that it was the ghost of one of the town's old mayors who had been hung for robbing a bank in the neighboring town in 1816. He wanted money to convince the railroad that they were prosperous and would not only benefit from the railway, but the railway would benefit from the town's business. Truth was the town was a ghost town even before he was hanged. The miners had long since come and gone and only a few farmers remained. The farmers were the ones that hung the mayor—and the farms had suffered ever since.

"Dean, this is ridiculous," Sam whispered into his phone's wireless headset, "we know where the mayor is buried, let's just burn the bones and move on." _"If for no other reason than to get out of Kansas,_" Sam thought to himself.

The farmer, Ben Washington, who owned the land, had grown up here, as had his father, and had contacted John Winchester when he and his wife had returned home for the evening and "felt a presence." They had just walked in the door, and caught the glimpse of light from the barn. When they turned around, they saw that their silo with a years' crop of soybeans and several of their corn fields were up in flames. After researching the town and its history, and ruling out arson, John had found that when a farmer began to be prosperous, making an income instead of a deficit off his crops, tragedy would strike his farm, sometimes his life. Ben Washington's father had died in a freak accident when an unmanned tractor had turned on and run him over. Ben was in college at Kansas State University—where he had met John—and had to come home to take over the family business.

Dean was planted in a row of fledgling tomatoes in the next field with an EMG and video camera. "Sam, this is a friend of dad's. A long time friend of dad's. And dad sent us here to do a job, so we're going to do it right," Dean reprimanded. Sam sighed into the phone, a sigh that did not go unnoticed by Dean. "Come on Sam, this could be like attack of the killer tomatoes. Who knows? These things could have sprouted legs and done the damage themselves," he tried to make the situation lighter. Sam chortled, Dean smiled. "If we don't find anything tonight, we'll burn the bones tomorrow for good measure, ok?"

"Sounds like a plan," Sam rubbed his cold hands together before starting his sixteenth sweep of the field. Dean was right. If for no other reason, they should finish the job because it was one of his dad's college buddies. And this college buddy sent them baskets of fresh produce every season when they were kid. They could always count on getting good apples from Ben Washington. What Sam didn't like was that John was just now sending them here when Ben had been telling him the town's ghost stories for years. They could have taken care of this years ago, and Ben wouldn't have lost his crops. And what Sam didn't like was John's reason. He didn't have to tell him what it was. Sam just knew. After the last encounter with the Fire Demon that had killed his mom and Jessica, John was keeping his boys as far from the real action as he could. Dean had been in a coma for several weeks after the accident. A fact that none of the Winchesters had forgotten. Sam's recollections were interrupted by beeping over his earpiece. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah, you getting anything?" Dean swept his field with the camera for any sign of the ghost.

"No," Sam started sweep number seventeen. He began to hear static over the earpiece, "Dean? Dean, can you hear me?" No answer. Sam picked up his shotgun.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean repeated into his earpiece, "Crap, where is that kid?" He stood up and started backing through the field, sweeping the area in front of him as he went. Nothing. He suddenly picked up a pungent smell, "Sulfur," he muttered under his breath, "Ok Casper, show yourself," he turned around to get the parts of the field behind him, "Let me kick your ass so that I can get a shower, good cup of coffee, and be home in time for Letterman. Do you know how long it has been since I've really been able to enjoy Letterman?" A tiller was parked fifty yards from Dean, and he heard the engine start, "Holy… Sammy!" He yelled and turned to run in the opposite direction. The tiller began to roll forward, picking up speed, as Dean raced toward the car and the field where he had left Sam. Glancing back, he saw the shape and outline of the mayor, "Ok, it's official. It's a ghost, and the mayor," he said to no one. The car was parked on the maintenance road between fields, he reached in his pocket to pull out his keys, and looked back over his shoulder to gauge the distance between himself and the tiller, "Oh God," he kept running. Directly in front of him, the green glowing outline of man appeared, "Spook, I don't have time for you," he stopped, lifted his shotgun to fire, but before he could get the salt round off, the specter exploded, and the tiller stopped. "I hate ectoplasm," he wiped the mucousy film from his face.

Sam laughed and lowered his shot gun, "Now can we burn the bones?"

"Yeah, let's make talcum powder of Slimer's ass," Dean wiped the goo from his hands on his pants and tossed Sam the keys, "Drive, stop laughing."

At daybreak, the boys were showered and on the road again, but before Farmer Ben had loaded them up with fresh produce. "I don't know why we're going back there. That woman hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Sam flipped through his CDs looking for good driving music. "I told her we'd stop by if we were ever in the area. And I meant it."

"Well, at least we have enough food to make her a peace offering," Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, noting the baskets of carrots, beans, and tomatoes. "Stop that," he shut Sam's CD case on his hand, "I've told you before, driver chooses the music."

Sam reopened the CD case, "That's why I bought this," he pulled a discman out of his bag, "A guy can only take so much of ACDC before he goes insane."

"That's because that guy has no taste," Dean turned the music up loader, "Don't you know those things are outdated anyway. Digital is in."  
"Yeah, and cassette tapes are still so popular," Sam joked directing his gaze to Dean's Classic Rock tape collection in floor.

Sam and Dean arrived in Lawrence before noon. Both of them were eerily quiet as the pulled up to the old house with the "Fortune Teller" sign in yard. "She doesn't hate you," Sam reassured Dean as they walked to Missouri's front door.

"Sam and Dean Winchester, long time no see," she greeted them at the door, "Of course I would love to have some vegetables. Grab me a few tomatoes, and green beans, would you, Dean? I just love fresh tomato sandwiches in the summer." Dean pursed his lips, but didn't move. "I don't hate you, boy, but you'll be on the top of my bad list if you don't go get me those veggies." Dean turned around in a huff, as Sam smiled and followed Missouri into the house.

"He's not doing as well as he let's on, but I guess you know that," Missouri smiled, pointing Sam to a chair and offering him a cup of coffee.

"Yeah, I know," Sam took a slow sip.

"But he doesn't, does he? You never told him?" Missouri raised an eyebrow to Sam who almost choked on his coffee.

"Know what?" Dean reentered the room.

"Know that tomatoes belong in the kitchen, boy," she playfully scolded Dean as he sat the vegetables on the coffee table, "Did that father of yours not teach you anything? Come on, you two, I have more coffee and lunch prepared in the kitchen."

Lunch was carefully choreographed as each other them avoided the topic of the fire demon, and the last encounter four months earlier that had them all hospitalized. But the topic of work didn't stay out of the conversation, "I talked to your dad last week, did he tell you?" Missouri questioned. Dean began to open his mouth, "Don't talk with your mouth full, chew, then tell me 'no'," she disciplined.

Sam couldn't stop smiling at his brother's awkwardness, "No, he didn't, Missouri. We haven't talked to him for a couple of weeks. But you knew that."

"I did," she grinned at herself, "which is why I'm going to be the one to tell you he's got a new job for you. It's a lot better than the one you just left, I can assure you."

Dean swallowed, "What is it?" before taking another bite of his fresh BLT.

"Savannah, Georgia," she began. Both the boys looked stunned. "You've never been down there before, it's a long drive. Your dad usually does the big trips like this one. But he thought you would be ready for it. There have been four unexplained deaths already this month. And more to come."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, "Is that all you can tell us?" Sam questioned, "Did he not tell you anything else? Any ideas on what's causing the deaths? Is it the demon?" Dean began to cough.

"One more thing, a name. Dr. Skylar Brown, a medical examiner in the Savannah coroner's office. That's who you need to hook up with to get the details. Wish I could tell you more," Missouri stood from the table and collected the plates—stealing Dean's before he was able to finish his sandwich. "You boys are going to have fun," she remarked winking at Dean, "nothing like being down South in the summertime."


	3. Dr Brown's Interview

"_Devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal  
__He was in a bind, 'cause he was way behind, and he was willing to make a deal…"_

The Charlie Daniels Band rocked the car stereo, "We shouldn't have stopped in Nashville," Sam moaned looking out the window, watching the Blue Ridge Mountains fade—partially due to the distance that was now gathering between them, and the other part the blaring 100 humidity obscuring their image.

"What are you saying, man? You didn't have fun last night?" Dean tipped his newly acquired cowboy hat down over his eyes, "Every man needs to get to the _Blue Bird Café_ at some point."

"You don't even like country music," Sam retorted. He had tried to enjoy the music and the ambiance, but per usual, his mind had been filled with images, thoughts, memories that he couldn't shake. Particular was his last conversation with Missouri before they left Kansas.

Dean tapped his finger on the steering wheel to the relentless rhythm set up by the dueling fiddle players, "No, but I like women and beer. And women like live country music and beer. So last night, I liked country music. And a sweet little thing named Amanda," he winked at Sam and ran his free finger along the brim of his hat.

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled, "You're relentless."

"Damn straight," Dean returned the grin, eyes now focusing on the bridge ahead of him. "So, navigator, where are we?"

"Getting ready to come into Chattanooga, Tennessee. Then we'll get on I-75 until Macon, Georgia, and then I-16 into Savannah," Sam consulted the map on the floorboard before kicking it back under the seat.

"Excellent," Dean's lips formed a roguish grin, "more time to remember Amanda."

* * *

Sam lost the fight with sleep somewhere outside of Atlanta. His eyes rolled back into the crevices of his mind, and grueling images once again racked his brain. He would have welcomed a vision. Welcomed the agonizing headache that pierced his sinuses, with an explosion of sonic force. Welcomed the mind numbing, vision altering, migraine that often followed with the head pounding, lights spinning, heart racing after effects. He would have welcomed any of that over the cinematic production that played on an endless loop in his unconscious mind. What he now saw were visions of the crash, the whirlwind of chaos that preceded, and the cacophony of sirens. Memories of flashing red lights, burned flesh, broken glass, and pain. Pain in his own body, sure, the head laceration, broken ribs, and more bruises than he thought imaginable were painful enough. However, he wasn't fortunate enough to only feel his own pain. He felt theirs, too. John's bilateral broken legs, more broken ribs than intact ones, and lacerated kidney screamed in tortured shrills. The memory flooded Sam and made his breathing shallow, inducing tachycardia. The very definition of restless sleep. But then there was the trump card—Dean. Dean's mental anguish had been paralyzing before the accident. The malicious banter the demon had been playing with Dean, all while inhabiting their father's body. The one person in the world who could still shatter Dean's iron-clad resolve, had been hurling emotional blow after blow at Dean until it nearly killed him. All while Sam watched… and felt... helplessly suspended, and pinned to the wall. He felt every arrow sink deeper into Dean's alligator thick skin, leaving a mark that no surgeon or fancy pharmaceutical could mend. A wound that Sam often wondered whether even time could heal. All of this coupled with the consequences of the crash—the subdural hematoma that expanded to the point of surgery… the next several days of Dean's unconsciousness with continued brain swelling that threatened his life. All while Sam and John watched, helpless for the first time in their lives, as Dean fought a greater fight alone. The fight with himself to stay alive. Sam knew what he did was necessary to save his brother's life. He'd do it again in a heartbeat if needed.

The car jerked to a sudden stop causing Sam to lurch forward into the dashboard. Dean laughed as Sam startled awake. "Gotcha," he whacked Sam playfully up the back of the head. "Come on," he opened the car door.

The air was dense with humidity. The kind of humidity that immediately took your breath away, parched your lungs and your throat, and made you feel the only solace would be found by being naked on the bottom of a swimming pool. And even that was questionable. "I picked up this in Atlanta," Dean dropped a newspaper on the back of the car, "Feel like being a reporter today?"

"Sure," Sam squinted out the sun's blaring off the rear window.

Dean removed his cowboy hat with Amanda's phone number scribbled hastily inside the brim, and tossed it in the back seat. He reached in a duffel bag and pulled out a wrinkled button-up. "Nothing a little Fabreze can't fix," he commented as he shook the shirt, gave it a sniff, and sprayed it until it was "Mountain Fresh." Sam grabbed a shirt from the hanging bag on the back of his seat, removed it neatly from the hanger, and proceeded to button it up—covering the huge red Stanford across his chest. "I don't know, college boy, those credentials on your shirt might get us in faster than these," Dean tossed Sam a press badge. "The AJC, since we're in Georgia and all."

Sam read the name on he badge, "Really, Dean? Bob Costas?" he gave Dean his patented exasperated look.

"They won't read it," Dean added his own "Peter Jennings" badge to his freshly-laundered shirt. Dean admired his reflection in the window, patted down his hair, and followed Sam to the front door of the City of Savannah Coroner's office.

A young woman got out her jeep and followed them to the door. Dean couldn't help but notice her. She was casual in jeans and a t-shirt, her brunette hair tied in a shaggy knot on the back her head, but she had an edge in her step. "Ladies first," he pulled open the door and pushed Sam out of the way as the girl walked past. She smiled, nodded graciously, and went inside ahead of them, straight through the "Staff only" entrance next to the receptionist. Dean's eyes followed her the whole way.

"What about Amanda?" Sam chided under his breath.

"Living in the now, Sammy."

Sam didn't take the time to correct him, "Hi," he walked confidently to the receptionist's desk. Behind it was a burly black woman with a brusque voice and graying hair, "Robin," Sam found her name on her badge. "We're here from the Atlanta Journal and Constitution to do a story on the unexplained deaths that have occurred over the past month."

"Mm-huh," Robin never looked at him. Sam and Dean looked at each other—was that a sign to continue?

"Well," Dean picked up the conversation, "we were told to contact Dr. Skylar Brown for more information."

Still no response.

The brunette from the parking lot re-entered the file room directly behind Robin. She donned a pair of worn and faded green hospital issue scrubs. She pulled a step stool over to the stack of charts she was searching before climbing and reaching the top shelf. Dean could not stop admiring her, "Nice assets," he grinned to himself. Sam noticed his diverted attention and stepped on his foot under the countertop.

"If you need to see our badges," Sam hopefully interjected. Dean shot him a cautionary look.

"Appointment?" Robin finally spoke and looked up at them. "Do you have one?" she added when neither Winchester appeared to know the answer to the question.

"Did he not tell you we were coming?" Dean laughed nonchalantly, "Sorry about that. We set it up last week. Dr. Skylar Brown. I'm sure if you page him, he'll say he was expecting us."

Robin's eyes narrowed quizzically, "Dr. Skylar Brown?"

"Yes," Sam was starting to believe this person might not work here and Missouri had sent them to the wrong morgue.

"Robin," scrubs girl interrupted, "I was getting ready to take these files to Dr. Brown's office. I don't mind dropping these two fine young men off, too," she flirted.

Dean's eyes sparkled, Sam gave her a flat apologetic grin. "We would be much obliged," Dean poured on a thick attempt at a Southern accent.

Robin's expression never changed as she buzzed the boys in. Their new gal pal picked up the charts she was collecting and rounded the corner to meet them at the long, immensely white and immaculate hall of offices, "This way," she smiled.

"You don't look like you've been working here long," Dean made an attempt at small talk. The girl gave him an uneasy look. "Because you look so young," he corrected.

She glazed a weary smile across her face, "Two years," she answered succinctly. Dean started to get the impression that all the charm at the front desk was an act. This girl was on a mission, and they just happen to wander in at the right time. She stopped in front of a large door with the placard "Dr. Skylar Brown, MD" in brass. The boys stood there and looked at her, she rolled her eyes, "Do you mind opening the door? My hands…"

"… are full. Sorry, let me get that," Sam stepped forward and pushed the door open for her. A sincere smile formed on her face, "Thank you," she stepped into the office. The walls of the office were stained wood adorned with water colors of jazz bands, street vendors and cafés, and old Savannah homes. There were two book shelves behind the desk flanking a closet. The young lady dropped the stack of files on the desk, "I don't believe I caught your names out there," she offered her hand forward.

Sam took it immediately, "Bob," he smiled.

Dean gave him the "are-you-crazy" look before adding, "Peter," and shook her hand also.

"Dr. Brown didn't mention having an interview today," she looked at them both suspiciously.

"We keep getting that. But we promise he knew we were coming," Sam tried to placate the tension in the room.

The girl nodded, apparently convinced. "Ok, then you'll want to follow me. Dr. Brown is working on the autopsy of the fourth victim, Leigh Iversly, but I assume you probably already knew that," she grinned sheepishly as the pushed open a door to a stairwell leading to the basement morgue. "She's been here for three days now, and we still don't know what happened to her," they emerged into a long, dimly lit hall with several glass-doored rooms lining it. "Autopsy 3," she pointed going to a closet, reaching in, and pulling out two pairs of scrubs identical to her own. "Dressing room is over there," she directed. Sam and Dean looked dumbfounded. "Trust me, you don't want your clothes to smell," she started towards Autopsy 3.

"Are you Dr. Brown's assistant?" Dean asked before she disappeared behind the door, "You said 'we' earlier."

"In a manner of speaking, yeah," she answered with a nod and disappeared behind the opaque glass.

Dean and Sam entered the men's changing room and promptly turned their backs on one another for privacy. There were a few empty lockers. Sam took off his clothes, folded them, and placed them in one of the empty lockers. Dean left his in an unkempt pile on the floor and beat Sam out the door. "Come on, poke," he sang impatiently. Sam punched him in the arm on his way out.

The boys entered Autopsy 3 to find a young man, in the same mint green scrubs standing over a woman's decaying body. The pungent smell of rotting flesh made Dean's stomach turn, and Sam's eyes water. The young man seemed completely unfazed. He was in his early to mid-twenties and neither Dean nor Sam could believe this guy was old enough to be a doctor…but he definitely seemed to know what he was doing. The woman on the table had an open Y-incision on her chest. The doctor pulled a face mask down and plucked an instrument off the table. He then proceeded to remove a portion of the victim's liver, "Gag me," Dean muttered under his breath, and turned back toward to door.

"Excuse me," the man stood up from the table, "Can I help you?"

"We're here for the interview, Dr. Brown," Sam restated hoping the man really did expect them.

"Dr. Brown?" he asked and turned back to the storage closet behind him. From it the young lady emerged clipping her name badge to the front of her scrubs.

"Yeah, they're with me," she grinned ear to ear.

"You're Dr. Skylar Brown?" Dean choked incredulously, now more on his shock than the smell.

"Call me Skylar. Jake Thompson, Sam and Dean Winchester," she pointed to each respectively, "They're here investigating Ms. Iversly's death. Shall we get started?" Sam laughed as Dean stood silently fuming over his own misjudgment and embarrassment.


	4. Lonely Hearts

_I know this seems slow going… but hang in there with me fans. I promise it will get better and the action will pick up. Thanks for your patience and reviews. Abs_

"You're a girl," Dean stated more than questioned.

"Guilty," she snarked, "You're smart. Maybe you should have gone to medical school, too." her eyes glinted with a rebellious glare Dean knew all too well.

"You're name is Skylar," he returned her glower, "We were looking for a man."

"But you got me. I forgot women aren't allowed to do this job. Guess I should quit now, huh, Jake my man?" she turned and winked at Jake who had just finished weighing the liver and was now taking sections of it to make into slides.

Sam reveled in his brother's discomfort. It wasn't often that women were the source of his ineptness. Quite the contrary. Dean Winchester had two qualities his brother envied more than anything: fortitude in battle, and deftly charming the ladies. This young woman was not going to be another jewel in his crown.

"Sam, suit up, and take a look," she smiled coyly, "Put on some gloves." Dean stood by the door, shuffling his feet, and getting more angry as the minutes passed.

Putting on some gloves and goggles, Sam stepped up to the body, "Meet Leigh Jeanette Iversly," Skylar began reverently. "A twenty-six year old female, no none medical problems, no significant family history… other than she is an Iversly—a big family in town. Social history: no elicit drugs, occasional alcohol, non-smoker. She went to the University of Georgia, got a law degree, and had just moved back here to practice. Also got engaged the night she disappeared."

Sam could swear Skylar was getting choked up. "Disappeared?" he asked. He could tell that Skylar was visibly upset now.

"Yeah," she took a step back, "three days before we found the body."

"At least now we know you have some compassion," Dean quipped noticing the change in Skylar's resolve.

Jake's eyes narrowed as he gently wrapped the liver in a specimen bag and placed it in a cooler, "She was a friend of ours. Went to high school with us."

"Sorry," Dean backed off a little.

Sam put his hand on Skylar's shoulder, "Sorry," he paused, "then how did you get on the case. I wouldn't think that they would let someone so close do the autopsy."

Taking a deep breath, Skylar stepped back up to the table, "Family requested it," her voice firm again, "That and I've done the other three, so I'm familiar with it."

"Other three?"

"I should have told Missouri more information, I suppose," she looked up to Jake, "give us a second?" Jake looked back at her with pleading eyes. It was obvious he didn't trust the Winchesters and didn't want to leave her alone with them. "I'll be fine, I'm a big girl. Get," she directed. Dean was glad her overbearing attitude wasn't solely directed to him.

Jake sighed and acquiesced, but not before flipping one of his gloves at Dean's back before exiting the room, "Sorry, man, you're right by the trash," he said with a wry smile.

Dean cocked his head and turned to head out the door with his fist raised, "Dean," Sam called forcefully. He stopped and backed into the room with his hands raised over his head before turning back to the table. Sam's eyes softened as he redirected his attention to Skylar, "You should have told Missouri? She said our dad sent us here? And you know them?"

"Yes," Skylar hissed emphatically, answering and ignoring, all there questions at once. "Miss Iversly is the fourth this year, there will be two more. There always is. Every five years. All of them unexplained 'drownings' and I use that term loosely."

"How so?" Dean finally found the nerve to get close to the body. She had been a very attractive girl. Long blonde hair slicked back, petite features, high cheek bones. The kind of girl that would have fetched Dean's attentions immediately at any bar, club, hell, even the post office. Her left hand had a solitaire diamond placed on the ring finger.

"Matt wanted it to stay there," there was an obvious softening in her voice, "I take it off when I leave. Anyway, I wanted to show this, I haven't told Jake… which is why he needed to clear the room. He thinks I've already removed it, but truth is, it wasn't here to start with." She motioned for Dean to come and look inside with she and Sam.

"What are we looking for here?" Dean grunted.

"Her heart," Sam noted as Skylar pulled back the rib cage, revealing an empty space in her chest. "It isn't here?"

"Nope," Skylar shook her head, "and its not in the other victims either," she closed the chest wall and walked over the to the manila file on the sleek silver lab table, "here are the before pictures. I want you to take a look and tell me if you notice anything," she handed the pictures to Sam, her hand grazing his lightly, unperceivable to Sam. Her eyes searched him as he studied the pictures. As intently as he flipped through each one, trying to find any clue that she could have been alluding to, her eyes studied him. Every grimace, every brow twinge.

"There's no marks on her," Sam finally conceded lifting his gaze, and startled, met hers.

"Right," Skylar responded with the lilt of a question, "yet she is completely exsanguinated, and her heart is missing."

Dean chuckled to himself picking up on the insinuation, "That's why we're here. You think it's a psychic killer and you want Sammy boy to check it out for you."

"Contrary to what you may think, I want you here to. I think that you will be a big help," Skylar slid her eyes in Dean's direction. "I'm more than familiar with the paranormal. Trust me. I see it all the time. But this case has gotten to me. And I honestly can't even look at it objectively anymore. I need help, and I need someone who can kill it. That's you, both of you. Interested?" she bated them.

Dean attacked the invitation like a hungry lion, "We have been waiting for a good fight. Come on," his step suddenly lighter, his mood apparent. He had a purpose again. He strode out of the room with his soul finally intact.

Sam stayed behind. "He looked like he needed a little pick me up," Skylar laughed to herself and returned to storage closet again before re-emerging with a packet of information. "This is for you. All illegal, so keep it to yourself. Copies of the three previous deaths this year, pictures, and directions to the most recent crime scene. It hasn't rained since they found the body, so you might be able to find something there. Oh, and the card of one of the librarians I know. She'll be able to hook you up with anything there, just ask. Nothing will be too weird a request for her," Sam nodded incoherently until he noticed the address on the front of the envelope. He looked up to Skylar but didn't get to ask the question, "My address. You're staying with me."

"Excuse me," Dean stuck his head back through to door, "Did I hear you say we're staying with you?" Being now fully dressed in his street clothes, Dean didn't feel he needed to come into the room, "You don't see me telling you how to do an autopsy, so you don't get tell us how we run our hunt. Thanks, but no. I don't think so. We do fine. Sammy," his voice more insistent on his brother's departure.

With a smile laced with playful anger, Skylar marched up to Dean and pushed his head back through the door before following it herself, "I know you scam off other people's credit cards," she spoke with a harsh whisper, "And that you eat junk food and stay a myriad of sketchy places. But I have a guest bedroom," she held up her finger knowing Dean's interjection, "and two extra beds, so you have no excuse. I owe your dad… a lot. So you're not staying in some dingy motel when you can stay with me." She was inches from Dean's face, fire a light in her eyes, lips twitching.

The confrontation made Dean's head spin, and his heart race. _Dear God, who is this woman,_ Dean stood back, mouth agape, one of the few times the repercussions of his words out weighed his desire to say them.

Sensing she had made her point, Skylar sighed with relief. And with all the charm of a proper southern belle, she smiled with a wink, and using her right index finger pushed Dean's mouth shut. "So I'll see you around seven. Nina is there this afternoon, so feel free to let yourself in and help yourself to whatever you need. My house is yours." Dean never took his eyes off her. She was an enigma. How her thoughts and emotions raced, constantly on the surface, ever increasing passion whether for her work or her words was all beyond him. Being a person who always kept a gilded cage around himself, complete with an automatic rifle in case you happened to make it through the defenses, this new ally made him nervous. He already had one person in his life with such an edgy passion. Sam.

"Be careful, and have fun," she placed a hand on Sam's chest, "Seriously," she turned to walk backwards down the hall as she talked, "Seven, Dean. Don't be late!"

_

* * *

_

_If she has the hots for Sammy—that is ok. I don't need another emotional person in my life, looking for some perfect moment to tell he how they feel. No thanks_, Dean thought as he and Sam drove around downtown Savannah looking for the library. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He had loved more women than he cared to count, or maybe he would try count later, he grinned at the memories. But he had only been in love with one person, ever. And he planned on keeping it that way. Love was vulnerable. Love was weakness. It opened the door for other people to get hurt. He could handle the pain. Bring it! But he wasn't about to let someone else into his world that could be hurt, not when it ended so badly before. Not after the promise he made while he was unconscious in the Iowa hospital.

He admitted that the loneliness of his life was suffocating. A constant vacuum between his sacrifice and the universe—sucking every piece of him dry, so that all he had left was enough to survive, to fight, and protect every one else. He had nothing to offer another person apart from what he was already giving. Definitely nothing as substantial as love. _Besides, Sammy needs to get laid_, he cut a furtive glance across the seat as Sam sat with his eyes glued to his laptop screen. He had been pirating WiFi off the local businesses since they left the coroner's office. "Geek," Dean spoke outloud.

"Drone," Sam didn't looked up.

"Kinda proves my point when I need a dictionary to understand your comeback," Dean shot back. Sam grunted. "So, have you found anything," time for a subject change.

"The deaths seem to be cyclic. Happening every five years, starting at the first of May and going through…"

"…the summer solstice," Dean finished.

"Exactly," Sam nodded, "and all of them are a part of a couple. It hasn't always been the woman, and I can't see a pattern in when it chooses men or women, but they are definitely a couple."

Suddenly, the Impala's wheels began to screech. Sam braced himself against the dashboard and the car door as the back of the car fishtailed, and they were speeding off in the opposite direction, "Are you absolutely insane? What the hell was that?"

"Decided we needed a little change in direction," Dean replied flat faced.

Sam's breathing was hard, his pulse was bounding, images of the car crash were flooding his mind, making it impossible for his body to regain equilibrium. "Do you not remember the horrific car crash we were in four months ago?"

"Do I need to answer that?" Dean slowed the car and pulled into a parking place, "I'm still buffing scratches out of my baby's paint. Damn body shop." He turned off the ignition, "Hall of records," he pointed at the sign on the door, "Saw it when we passed. Thought it might be helpful," he patted Sam on the shoulder as he jumped out of the car.

Gritting his teeth, Sam closed his laptop and placed it back in his bag. And opening the car door mumbled, "Idiot," as he followed Dean up the stairs and into the building.


End file.
